The D
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs and his quest to figure out what THE D is, and why Tony thinks Ziva wants it. C R A C K !


_a/n: my room mate and i laughed about this idea for a good fifteen minutes last night. then, i texted my faithful muse & the fic sort of-sprung forth._

_crack!crack!crack!  
(hell, it's maybe an LSD fic)_

* * *

NCIS Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was coming back from an evening coffee run when he happened to overhear a conversation between DiNozzo and McGee.

He was stepping off the elevator as the two younger agents were scrambling on—it was near quitting time, and they knew if they didn't get this last interview in by eight o'clock, they'd end up being here all night.

Gibbs glared at them both, inducing them to leap back and let him off first, and as the elevator doors were closing on the perpetually arguing DiNozzo and McGee, he heard DiNozzo say quite smugly:

"Yeah, Ziva wants the D."

The woman in question was not in the bullpen, so Gibbs couldn't ask Ziva what exactly Tony's slang had meant. He prowled around looking at their desks to make sure actual work was going on—if he caught DiNozzo on that tweeter thing one more time he was going to head-slap him silly—and found no technical, case-related information that informed him as to what _The D_ was.

He glowered, and sipped his coffee moodily.

Special Agent Gibbs did not like it when he was out of the loop.

He narrowed his eyes and considered his options-and then, it became obvious. He turned on his heel, and marched towards the elevator.

* * *

Mere seconds later, he marched off the elevator and into autopsy—where there was no Ziva, but there was definitely a Ducky.

And Ducky—

"Hey, Duck," Gibbs said, interrupting the old medical examiner in the middle of cracking a breastplate.

Ducky looked up through his plastic shield, pausing in his actions, and waited expectantly for Gibbs to continue. He looked slightly amusing, standing there elbow-deep in a dead body while appearing earnest and helpful as well.

Gibbs gestured with his coffee towards the elevator.

"Think Ziva needs you for somethin'," he growled curtly. "Heard Tony say she wants The D."

Ducky's brows furrowed and he looked confused. He lifted his shoulders and shook his head.

"I'm not familiar with a new trend in which NCIS agents refer to me as The D," he said slowly, and then shook his head again, "but Ziva was just down her a moment ago, and I do believe I gave her everything she needed to follow up on your previous case."

Gibbs glared at Ducky, annoyed with the lack of information. Without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and stormed towards the elevator again—he did some quick thinking, came up with another theory, and took the elevator up to the MTAC catwalk.

* * *

Gibbs ignored Vance's secretary and barged right into his office, blithely slamming the door against the wall—it gave him a small amount of pleasure to hear it bang loudly. Vance looked up, blinking in irritation, and glared at Gibbs.

"Something I can help you with, Gibbs?" he asked shortly.

Gibbs nodded, tapping his hand on the lid of his coffee cup. He looked around the room critically for a moment, judging Vance's décor for a split second—he'd liked Jenny's much better—and then looked him straight in the eye.

"Think Ziva's looking for you," he tried again. "Tony said she wants _The D_."

Vance twitched his head abruptly.

"What did you just say to me?" he demanded incredulously.

"The D?" Gibbs repeated. "Director?" he growled, suddenly conscious of the fact that he'd screwed up again—dammit, he was going to kill DiNozzo twice over for speaking this new-fangled, hip—English—

Vance stared at him bluntly.

"Is this an effort in Ebonics?" he growled sardonically. "You punking me, Gibbs?"

Gibbs glared at him harder.

"I'm just tryin' to help Ziva out," he retorted testily.

Vance raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I'd love to be of help, Gibbs—but I don't think I am what Ziva is looking for," he said dryly. "And I'd suggest you tell DiNozzo to keep _The D_ out of the office."

Gibbs opened his mouth to protest, clamped it shut, and then stormed out of Vance's office, too.

Keep what—what that began with a D shouldn't be in the office-?

Gibbs checked his watch, and suddenly it clicked.

It was getting late, and lunch was a long time ago, so obviously Ziva must want—

* * *

Ziva David stared at the falafels occupying her desk. She looked up warily at the gruffly smiling Gibbs in front of her, and then looked around warily.

"Gibbs, what-?" she began.

"Dinner," he said proudly. "You wanted dinner."

She looked at the food again. She never was the kind of girl to turn down a free falafel but—

"I was content to wait until after work," she said mildly. She picked one up. "What possessed you to buy me—dinner?"

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee smugly.

"Heard DiNozzo say you wanted The D."

Ziva bolted up from her desk, her eyes flashing menacingly.

"OH DID HE NOW?" she growled aggressively, shoving the falafels to the front of her desk. She ran her hand back through her hair and grit her teeth.

Gibbs blinked, his eyes widening slightly.

Why would Ziva be so angry that Tony had said she wanted the—

"Well, I hope Tony is not too attached to his _D_—because when I am through with his _manhood_ he will be Very Special Agent –_iNOzzo!_"

—_oh_.

* * *

_really though, it should be noted skyler wrote about half of this. particularly the very last line-her idea. so, s/o to .always. _

_-alexandra_

_story #162_


End file.
